


Breakfast

by friedhotsauce



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Language, Not for the squeamish or light-hearted, Oatmeal anyone?, Sexual Tension, regurgitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friedhotsauce/pseuds/friedhotsauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes studied the event in awe, a sudden arousal lingering within his libido. He very well knew the proper response to such a sight was to shade his eyes in disgust, but he couldn’t help himself, the whole thing was kind of turning him on. Sherlock began to think about John, and whether he would like to add the peculiar move to their mating ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast

Sherlock Holmes yawned groggily as he shuffled into the kitchen. He felt around for the light switch and a tin of coffee grounds, and added measured spoonfuls into the maker. Suddenly, a bird chirped lightly near the window, announcing the looming sunrise. Interrupted by the noise, the detective almost raced to the source.

Things had been slow in the crime-solving business for almost a month now. With boredom plaguing his mind almost instantly, Sherlock’s curiosity had spotted a short guide to bird watching on the bookshelf. He was unsure about how it got to be there in the first place, as he never had an interest for the sport, but soon became thankful for its lucky presence and added bird watching to his list of interests.

The detective snatched a pair of plain binoculars from the desk, and peered out the window to study the animal. He let out a disappointed sigh, it was a black crow yet again and it released an ugly caw, very unlike the bright sound Holmes thought he heard. Sherlock’s scowl faded though, as he watched the perched crow on a nearby tree. He seemed to feel drawn to the procedure of which the mother crow fed her screaming young with. She craned her neck over the small bunch’s gaping beaks, and a quick stream of regurgitation fell into the chicks’ mouths. 

Holmes studied the event in awe, a sudden arousal lingering within his libido. He very well knew the proper response to such a sight was to shade his eyes in disgust, but he couldn’t help himself, the whole thing was kind of turning him on. Sherlock began to think about John, and whether he would like to add the peculiar move to their mating ritual.

As the mother finished, the tall man averted his stare. Turning back to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, the detective scratched his curls, confirming to himself that there was no way the doctor would appreciate such a motive as being sexy. Flipping a heavy omelette to a plate, Holmes then remembered what a poor performer Watson had been in the sack lately. He smiled at thinking how his little ‘test’ fit as a punishment, whether it cured the lacklustre or not.

The plate was not nearly as big enough for the gigantic breakfast, and Sherlock found himself struggling to hold the dish with both hands, arms tensing at the weight. Seating himself at the table, he comically cracked his knuckles and loosened his neck muscles, hoping it would help with the process. The black-haired man scarfed down the cheese and egg concoction. In order for the regurgitation to occur smoothly, he would need to disturb his stomach first, which was helped by the fast eating.

Only halfway through the task, Sherlock was starting to feel a sensation of fullness, but pressed on with determination as his stubbornness took over. Finally, the detective forced the last forkful past his teeth. An invisible sheen o sweat ran down his back, and his breathing quickened to keep up with the heart’s palpitations. Fucking hell, John better like it, the man was clearly risking his life for this erotic pay-back. 

Pushing himself away from the dizzying sight of other edibles, Holmes paced to their bedroom. Upon entering, the doctor had just finished pulling a thick jumper over his body, and smiled at his partner.

“Sure is chilly this morning, isn’t it? Kind of disappointing, the weather man said it wold be warmer this weekend.”

Oh Sherlock knew a thing or two about disappointment, alright. “Come here,” he ordered with a slight groan, due to his uprising nausea.

“What is it?” John approached the wavering man.

“One second.” The detective spun around and ducked his head from Watson’s sight, to jam his fingers down his throat to begin the gagging. The doctor heard the upchucking sound, and furthered his worry.

“Sherlock is everything-“ His concerned statement didn’t have the chance to finish, as Holmes grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close so that their lips met.

 John felt the detective’s mouth open wide and he followed along, expecting some tongue action. His fluttering eyes flew wide in shock, as he felt a horribly sour rush of chunky liquid usher down his throat. It burned his neck’s interior quite painfully. He hit Holmes’s back and shoved his partner away in defending retaliation. John kneeled to the ground and gagged harshly, trying to rid his body of the deposited toxins. He turned to Sherlock, who oddly enough, licked the yellow-y ring around his pale lips, and giggled at the disoriented man.

“What the fuck was that?” John cried.

“A test,” the detective casually stated. “I wanted to see what you thought of it.”

“Well obviously, I think it was the most disgusting experience of my life!”

“Good, the adrenaline from your anger should put a nice spring in your step.” Sherlock affirmed, as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Oh no, fuck no! Sherlock Holmes, I am not about to make love to you after that. No way, no how!”

The black-haired fellow lifted his eyes directly to his partner, as his beaming emotion fell. John struggled to his feet, and roughly passed out of the bedroom, mumbling angrily. He had really done it this time; the doctor slung on his coat and started to exit the flat.

“Where are you going?”

“To go get some toothpaste and mouthwash.”

“And why can’t you make do with what we have here?”

“I’m gonna need loads more than what is here, to clean my mouth back to normalcy.” The blond male announced, before storming out.

 

                Sherlock and John sat silently in a cab’s backseat. They were on the way to an area, where a gruesome murder had recently taken place. This time Sherlock had to force John along, as within the days after the ‘incident’, the duo made little or no contact with each other.

The detective was starting to feel bad, and tried to break the ice. “I guess the weatherman screwed up again today.” He said upon noticing the rain fall heavier.

“Maybe someone regurgitated into him, and now his brain function is all messed up because of it, and he can’t tell the weather properly anymore.” The doctor sputtered, and the detective chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah keep your laughter up Holmes. Just count your blessings that you weren’t on the receiving end. At that, the cabbie peered at them suspiciously from the rear-view mirror, and the pair lowered their gazes.

“But you have to admit,” Sherlock whispered softly. “It was kind of-“

“Nope.”

“Not even a-“

“Not in the slightest.”

The sound of the vehicle’s motor buzzed in the quiet, and then the rumbling of John’s stomach chorused along.

“I told you to eat before we left.” The black-haired man reprimanded.

“I wasn’t hungry then.” Watson snapped.

“We can stop somewhere if you’d like.”

“I’m alright.”

Fed up, Sherlock raised his hands in defeat. “Suit yourself.”

 

                The detective circled around the ravaged female body, studying it with the refreshed carefulness he gained from bird-watching,

“Seems to me like somebody’s been watching too many scary movies.” Lestrade joked, as he sipped on his uncomfortably red beverage.

“Interesting. As these gashes around her torso are very likeable to that of the victims from the last couple of ‘Chainsaw Massacre’ remakes.” Sherlock furthered the hypothesis.

“”How about her throat, did you check that Holmes? Maybe she died from being vomited into!” John yelled from afar, and made sure to annunciate the last two words. 

The room of professionals stilled and looked at the doctor, with strange stares.

“John, could you just go into the other room or something?” The detective requested through gritted teeth. With an angry exhale, Watson evacuated.

The blond man stomped out of the police riddled flat, and to his hungry relief, saw a small café across the street. The doctor barged in and marched up to a timid waitress.

“Have you got any oatmeal?”

“Um sorry sir, but it’s lunch time now. None of the breakfast items are available again until tomorrow morning.”

“Well in that case I’ll…” John scratched his head in unwanted realization. Did he just ask for oatmeal? He didn’t even like that shit, especially since it reminded him of Sherlock’s little surprise. What the hell was he doing ordering it? The blond man spun his head to the building where his mate still worked, and deeply rolled his eyes.

“Sir?” The waitress asked.

“Sorry, never mind it.” Watson stuttered and retraced his steps.

 

                “Sherlock.” John moaned tiredly, and his stomach sounded likewise.

The detective was in the process of taking photos of the scene. “What is it now?” Holmes rose from his crouched position and followed the doctor, into the less-crowded hallway. “I was in the middle of something, this better be important.”

“I’m fucking starving.”

“I saw a shop across the street, why don’t you go there?”

“I already did.”

“And...”

“And I couldn’t find anything I liked. They were out of oatmeal.”

“Is that so?” Sherlock pondered, catching on to the doctor’s drift. “What are you to do now?”

“I was wondering,” John began painfully, as he hated to admit it. “If you could feed me.” There was really no other way to word it.

Sherlock smiled deeply and placed a comforting hand on his partner’s arm. “No.”

Watson groaned with frustration. “Come on Holmes, I’m sorry about what I said before. I have to say, it’s all I could think about since.”

“Was it really?”

“Unfortunately.” Perhaps the spring returned to John’s step after all.

“Fine, but we have to make it quick.” The detective dragged the blond man to a more secluded part of the building, all the while trying to purge. He had eaten breakfast hours ago, but he waited for this moment for longer. Sherlock would surely not let it pass without acting upon it. 

The duo snuck into a deep corner. Holmes caressed Watson’s face to relax his partner’s nerves, and to continue his own.

“One minute,” he requested, and turned around to entice the vomit with his fingers.

“Here, let me.” John offered. “This was supposed to be arousing right?” He nervously poked a digit into the detective’s wet mouth, and toward the throat.

“Farther, farther.” The dark-haired man insisted.

“Fuck, it’s useless!” Watson exclaimed, as he recovered his saliva covered limbs.

“No it’s coming, I can feel it.” Sherlock announced, patting the base of his neck. “I just need something, one thing to set me off.”

The doctor thought hurriedly about what could help his partner. “I got an idea, but it is pretty lame and probably won’t make a difference.”

“Try me.”

“Anderson’s face.”

At that, the tall detective embraced John’s face tightly. They opened their puckered mouths in unison and Sherlock injected an acidic, pudding-like substance, down John’s throat. Watson closed his eyes as he swallowed the warmth of his partner’s recipe into his being. He caught slight hints of coffee and blueberry muffin, on his curious taste-buds. The moaning sound of his partner blowing chunks was almost welcoming. He held tightly on to the detective to relish in the last purge of his sour breakfast. 

Panting heavily, the couple parted to recollect themselves. John licked his lips of the beige stain and Sherlock’s too, in order to rid even the slightest trace of their peculiar kiss. The doctor sighed with satisfaction at his brimming belly, and ruffled his partner’s curls in appreciation.

“How was it?” Holmes breathed and wiped the reactionary water from his eyes.

“Delicious.”

“Glad it tickled your fancy this time.”

“Oh it did, it really did. And tonight,” John commenced. “I’ll be making supper.” 

It was the detective’s turn to play baby bird.

 

 


End file.
